The Expectation Liberation
by NinjaNovelist
Summary: In which Sheldon must learn that not all his Homines Novi will turn out the way he had hoped. Canon pairings.


**Aaaaaand of course I choose Mother's Day to finally post the story on fatherhood I've been working on for a few eons. Go figure. Regardless, I hope you enjoy this. **

"_I think that some of these stories adult Sheldon is telling us through young Sheldon are reflections on 'now that I have my own children, maybe I'm seeing that world through my dad's eyes more clearly than I had.' Those thoughts had been on my mind for awhile." -Steve Molaro, TV Guide_

Three paces to the left. Turn. Three paces to the right. Turn. Repeat. And repeat, and repeat, and repeat, like the regimented ticks of the clock before it predictably strikes the hour.

He had promised Amy he would talk to him, and Sheldon Cooper never broke a promise. He wasn't scared. Why on earth would he be, of someone a fifth his age and nearly two feet shorter than him? No, he simply wanted to be sure he handled this with… precision. Considerate but firm, generous but fair, yet still stealthy enough to get what he wanted in the end. Like Batman. Yes, exactly. Now he just had to put himself in the shoes of the greatest detective on earth to figure out just how to get this child to see things his way and then-

"Dad, just come in already. I can hear you thinking from in here."

So much for being stealthy.

With a trepidation he could literally feel in his old, deteriorating bones (he was now over _fifty, _for goodness' sake), Sheldon pushed the door open to find his son in the same position he always did, sprawled across his bed and scribbling furiously away in his notebook. Sometimes it was a story, other times a drawing, occasionally even a few lines of music. Not once, however, has it been an equation.

"Um, hi Matthew." Swallowing hard, Sheldon scanned the room for a place to sit, but there was hardly a patch of a surface that wasn't covered in books or loose sheets of paper. He remained in the doorway. "Do you think we could talk about what happened downstairs?"

Matthew sighed, but obediently closed his notebook and sat up to face his father. "I'm sorry for getting upset."

Sheldon blinked. While true that Matthew had always been the sweetest, most agreeable of all his children, even this quick of an acquiescence was unexpected to say the least. Especially considering the subject of his son's earlier blowup.

"Oh." Sheldon stepped fully into the room and began to dig through the small mountain on Matthew's desk chair, methodically organizing the papers by size, type, and date as he went. "Well, thank you. That's very mature of you."

"That doesn't mean I'm changing my mind."

Spoke too soon. Honestly, what kind of eleven-year-old was this uncompromising and stubborn?

Finally reaching his goal, Sheldon sat himself down on what felt like solid gold after all that pacing but was actually cheap, Target-bought plastic. His knees were practically level with his chin, but still he turned with the pride of a king to stare at his subject from across the bedroom. Matthew gazed resolutely back with large blue eyes just like his own, but that was where the resemblances stopped. Be it physically, with his cherubic gold curls and small stature, or personally, with his natural people skills, father and son could not be more different. If anything Matthew took after his mother- so much kindness and patience with just a _hint _of that headstrong spunk- but even between them there were some key differences. Most notably, their interests.

"Look, you're still young," Sheldon said, though even as he spoke the words tasted flat in his mouth. "I may have discovered my calling at an early age, but you can take as much time as you need to explore which branch of science will best suit you."

"But I have decided," Matthew protested. "Psychology."

Sheldon couldn't help but scoff. "Psychology doesn't count. It's just the humanities disguised as science."

"Dr. Hofstadter is a psychiatrist," Matthew pointed out.

"Yes, but she's also a reputable neuroscientist, like your mother." Then a thought occurred to him. "Maybe you can visit the lab with your mom and see the day-to-day life of a biologist." It was no physics, but at this point Sheldon would take what he could get.

But Matthew shook his head, turning away. "I don't want to experiment on animals or slice up human brains for science. I want to help people."

"But science _does _help people, Matthew," Sheldon argued. "It advances our understanding of the world so that-"

"I know, I know, you probably rocked me to sleep with that line when I was a baby," said Matthew, still not looking at his father. "But I don't want to be holed up in an office or a lab by myself. I like talking to people, helping them at a personal level. Not through some published paper that most of them won't read, anyway."

"But don't you want to do something that impacts the whole world?" Sheldon asked. "Going into therapy might help a handful of people at best, but with the hard sciences you could make discoveries that help everyone. Those odds are much better, don't you think?"

"You just don't get it…" Matthew trailed off, then released a hard sigh and folded his legs into his body. "Whatever, it doesn't matter. I'm not smart enough to by a physicist, anyway."

That one sentence felt like a stab to Sheldon's heart. No child of his was ever allowed to be _stupid_.

"That's not true," he said, a tad more harsh than he'd intended. "I know you've been struggling with math and science this year, but I could tutor you after dinner every night to get your grades back up."

"I really don't think that'll help-"

"Clearly the American public school system has been failing you. I knew we should've gone private, if only your mother had listened-"

"Dad, you just need to give it up-"

"No!" Sheldon shot to his feet, scattering papers as he went. "You are my son, and you will _not _be a disappointment to me."

The words seemed to suspend and permeate the air between them, slowly edging out the oxygen until Sheldon thought he would suffocate. Matthew didn't look much better, going white as a ghost and staring back at his father with wide, frightened eyes. Then little by little his face began to crumble, and his eyes began to well up, until he finally collapsed fully into tears.

Sheldon had been wrong. _This _was what a stab to the heart felt like.

"No. No, no, no, no, no," Sheldon chanted, crossing the room to his son. "I didn't mean it. Please don't cry."

But cry he did, and without a second thought Sheldon sat on the bed and pulled Matthew into his arms. The boy clung to him and soaked his father's shirt with his tears, but Sheldon didn't mind. Well, he did mind, but that wasn't what mattered just then. Though Sheldon had never been a cuddler- even with Amy those times were few and far between- ever since he was a baby nothing soothed Matthew more than being held by his mother or father.

Sheldon waited until Matthew's sobs settled into the occasional hiccup before bracing himself for the thing he hated most doing, and always would.

"I'm sorry, Matthew. I was wrong."

"No, you weren't," Matthew said with a sniffle. "You and Mom are world famous Nobel winners, and no matter how hard I try I'll never live up to that. Jane will, and maybe Laurie, but I won't. I'll always be the idiot black sheep of the family."

Sheldon swallowed hard. He might have little to nothing in common with his son, but feeling like an outsider in your own family was certainly something he could understand.

"Listen to me." Sheldon pulled away enough so he could look Matthew straight in the eye. "You're not stupid. You're not an idiot. You're intelligent in ways I can never dream of."

"Like what?" Matthew asked, timid but with the barest hint of hope in those blue eyes.

Sheldon hesitated. Not because he couldn't think of anything, not even close, but he knew that saying them would be waving the white flag. By telling Matthew where his talents truly lay, he would be forced to admit that his own offspring, his eldest child and only son, would never follow in his own footsteps.

An image flashed through his head of a man with kind eyes and a warm smile, nodding along as his child prattled on about Aristotle and the science behind thunderstorms. It was a look that nine-year-old Sheldon wouldn't have recognized, but fifty-one-year-old Sheldon certainly did. It was the same look Amy would give when one of the kids went on about nothing, or explained in vivid detail something she knew better than they did. That look of playing dumb that on Sheldon would look simply condescending, but on his wife the love would always shine through. Maybe that's what his father used to do for him.

Sheldon felt a sudden new set to his shoulders. If his father could encourage his son to pursue something he himself had no interest in, let the child chase his dreams while putting his own aside, then so could he.

"You're creative," Sheldon began. "I could never begin to write or draw the way you do. I think that might be why I love comics and movies and shows so much. It's something I could never do myself, but I can still admire the work of a genius in any form."

For the first time since entering the room Matthew genuinely smiled, spurring Sheldon onward. "And you have academic intelligence, too. You're a fifth grader who reads better than most high schoolers, and no one knows history like you do."

Sheldon reached over to brush Matthew's wild blond hair out of his face, never tearing his gaze from those vibrant blue eyes. "But most of all, you have emotional intelligence. More than anyone else I know. You can always tell when Laurie's upset about something, or just how to get Jane out of her shell to have some fun. You're a great kid, a fantastic older brother, and the best son I could ever ask for. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

_Least of all me. _But Sheldon swallowed back that moment of guilt and self-pity and kept the attention on his son. It's what his father would have done.

Matthew's smile had widened to a full-on grin, and he launched himself back into their embrace. "Thanks, Dad. I love you."

Sheldon felt a sudden lump come to his throat, but he fought through it as he laid his head against his boy's hair. "I love you, too."

They spent a few more moments holding each other before Sheldon decided that was about as much sentimentality as he could take. As they broke apart, Sheldon reached over to grab one of the papers on Matthew's desk. Maybe he could give this whole 'playing dumb' thing a try. "Now, this story you've been working on. When the Martians invade the pizza planet and gorge themselves to death, is that meant to be humorous or a social commentary on dietary consumerism?"

Close enough.


End file.
